Those we choose and those we can't
by namedthingsyouthrowback
Summary: Marauders era AU. One night, Sirius Black woke up in Voldemort's rather grisly sitting room. He thought he could spy for the Light...but things didn't turn the way he expected. As of now, there will probably be slash...but not LVSB or SSSB.
1. Chapter 1

Sirius went to bed one Friday night as he often did: slightly unclean, because Saturdays were made for long morning showers, and he hadn't washed his favourite Gryffindor-red-plaid pyjama trousers and matching red vest in nearly a week. He was also, as usual, quite content, having successfully (as always!) snagged a piece from Remus' chocolate stash and pinned the blame on James. His homework was reasonably well worked through, he was fit and ready for quidditch practise, and he had a bar of Honeyduke's Toffee-and-Almond Dark Chocolate to nibble on as he snuggled into his bedclothes and fell peacefully asleep amid James' and Remus' grumbling.

Come Saturday morning, Sirius usually awoke late, dragged himself into the shower, and stayed there for a long time. His first glimpse of the world was one of bright sunlight, birdsong, and James' mad hair in the next bed.

Not so, this time.

It was too dark, for starters. There was a filthy, foggy window over the shoulder of the man in front of him allowing a view of the same dark night he'd gone to sleep in. He was seated in a comfortable-enough chair at a small round table before a roaring fire- the only light in the room, really, as the few pathetically dripping candles affixed to the grungy black walls (black with paint or with layers of dirt and other stains, Sirius couldn't say) gave off hardly more than a weak sputtering. The wood trim around the ceiling looked like it had mould. The ragged once-something-now-grey curtains definitely did. There was a polite cough, and Sirius turned his attention to the man.

He looked to be in his early fifties, or perhaps mid forties; being a Dark Lord was probably a highly stressful job, and stress takes its toll on your skin- and what the _hell_ was he thinking about the Dark Lord's wrinkles for?

'I hope you don't mind the rather rude method of your arrival,' Voldemort said in a smooth, low voice. 'I didn't have many options, I'm afraid, and this was the only one unlikely to leave you with a headache or a wanted poster.'

Sirius nodded slowly. 'Thank you.'

Voldemort waved a hand. 'No need. Rather, I thank you for joining me. We have much to discuss, Sirius.'

The fire popped in the green-stained brass grate. Clearly, this wasn't some bizarre dream, so Sirius leaned gingerly back in his chair and tried to keep his face neutral. He was oddly calm, just like on the quidditch pitch when he was in the middle of a dangerous manoeuvre and the adrenaline hadn't quite caught up with him yet. He raised an eyebrow. 'Do we?'

'Oh, yes.' Voldemort smiled. It wasn't as evil-looking as Sirius expected. Not evil at all, really, just pleasant. He snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared, dressed in a swathe of dark green fabric and bowing low. 'But first, allow me to host you properly. I'm afraid I nearly fall out of practise, surrounded only by my friends. What will you drink?'

Sirius scoffed before he could help himself, crossing his arms. 'Riiight. Because taking drinks from the Dark Lord is _such_ a good idea. It's in first year Defence Against the Dark Arts, didn't you know? 'Always take tea with the enemy; this may confuse them and lead them to make a mistake. Alternately, a fireside cup of cocoa is an excellent method of suppressing Dark powers.' Sirius sang the last lines as if quoting from a book. Then his eyes went wide as he realised what he'd done. _Mocking_ the Dark Lord! Oh, gods, he was never going to get out of here alive!

Voldemort smirked, as though amused. 'Quite. Umpty, two hot chocolates.' The house elf bowed even lower and disappeared with a soft _pop_, then _popped _back an instant later with two steaming cups. Sirius didn't touch his. 'Now, Sirius.' Those uncanny red eyes were on him again. 'You are an intelligent young man and the heir to a family with a long history of Dark sympathies. You cannot be at a complete loss as to why I might have brought you here.'

Sirius swallowed. This was a recruitment session. Well, he'd just have to tell You-Know-Who where he could stick his damned Dark sympathies! And get immediately killed, probably. Or at least brutally tortured. No. There had to be something else! He didn't think Voldemort would be the type to accept a 'hmmm...can I think about it? I'll get back to you tomorrow.' But...well...just maybe... There wasn't really anything else for it, was there? And the information he might be able to get!

Sirius adopted what he hoped was a nonchalant look. 'I'm not my family,' he said, trying to sound bored. 'You can tell from looking, see? It's all in the plaid.' He gestured to his red trousers. 'Reg wears Slytherin green. Well, probably not. I don't think he'd touch trousers like these, he only sleeps in silk bed robes. Ponce.'

Voldemort seemed to stifle a chuckle raised an eyebrow as though surprised, but something told Sirius the man already knew all about his political preferences. 'You fight for the light side, then?'

Sirius shrugged. 'I think both sides have their good points...and their bad. I guess I'm open to being..._persuaded.' _Well, if nothing else, he could now claim he'd negotiated terms with Lord Voldemort himself. In Lord Voldemort's house. While wearing muggle-style Gryffindor pyjamas. If that didn't earn Marauder points, he didn't know what did.

That surprisingly simple, non-evil smile. 'Of course. I would expect nothing else from you- and that's why you're here. To be persuaded.'

'Oh? How do you plan to manage that? Please don't say you're intending to kill off my friends 'til I say yes; it's so overused. The plotline of every bad muggle romantic thriller.'

Voldemort looked briefly confused, but shook it off, and took a deep drink from his cocoa. 'I had hoped we might talk. I can tell you nothing now of my plans for the future that you don't already know. However, were you to pledge a modicum of faith- without taking the mark, of course- we might be able to discuss more.'

Sirius pretended to think for a minute. 'I suppose,' he said slowly. 'No-one's done anything to try to get me on the light side- they all seem to think we students are too young and well out of it, despite the fact that we'll be the ones on the front lines when everything properly heats up. Sure, why not? Until they make me a better offer, I'm all yours, Mr Dark Lord.'

The smile was a little more smirkish this time, but in amusement rather than triumph. 'Naturally, I would expect some little show of devotion to prove your seriousness. Perhaps...an invitation for one of my friends through Albus' floo?'

Sirius rolled his eyes, sticking his bare feet out towards the warm fire. The oriental rug under their chairs was thin and motheaten and had some rather suspicious looking stains. _'Fuck_ no. Do you know how many detentions I'd have to get to be summoned to the Headmaster's office in the first place? I'm not that fond of gutting frogs. _Or_ cleaning lavatories. How about I send you a nice pot plant instead? I won't even make it a biting one, I swear.' Merlin. He was joking with You-Know-Who!

Voldemort raised a strong eyebrow as he took another sip of chocolate. 'I think an artful posy might rather spoil the doom-and-gloom feel of the place, don't you? And it's such a useful effect,' he said mildly, and Sirius felt his jaw drop. 'I'd rather have information, or perhaps a lovely trinket from my dear old school. I've heard fascinating things about a certain changeable room.'

Sirius shrugged. 'I assume you mean the kinds of trinkets that can scramble someone's brains or blow up a castle? When it comes to dark artefacts you'll not find anything there that beats what's at home,' he said honestly, leaning back in his chair and unconsciously rubbing an old scar on his right arm. 'I even know how most of them work. Mother likes to demonstrate on me when the ladies come round for tea.'

The red eyes...softened, that was the only word for it, and the smile had no hint of a smirk but something that might have been assumed on anyone else to show pity. 'They have truly used you cruelly, the Blacks,' he murmured, and his gaze went grave. 'Sirius, you are a strong, intelligent young man- vibrant, charismatic, daring, all the things that make up the kind of man who can make the world take notice, and change it for the better and brighter. You should have been cherished and nurtured from the day you were born. I have sat with you not twenty minutes and you have made me feel more alive than I believe I ever have. Let me recognise your brightness, Sirius,' he said urgently, and grasped his hand over the table. 'Let me offer you the world, as it should have been offered to you. Let me shower you with the praise and respect which should have always been yours. Be mine, Sirius,' he said, nearly begging now, and the situation had turned into something Sirius could never have imagined in his dreams. 'Be mine for me and I will be everything you always wished they were for you.'

/

In hindsight, running away from the dark lord was probably not the most intelligent plan. He had an army, a magic house, and probably a legion of house elves on his side- Sirius didn't have his wand, let alone directions out. He sprinted down dark hallways with impossible shadows and up slimy marble stairs, getting nothing but lost. Finally, in a cold wing of the manor with bare stone floors and silent, sneering portraits, he came to a dead end, panting and gasping with a stitch in his side and rug burns on his bare feet. The hall end was unlit except by moonlight and the dust lay deep on the empty sconces; no one walked this way anymore. He'd be safe for a short rest, just until his aches and racing heart eased... Sirius curled up as small as he could, which wasn't much, in a shallow alcove behind a statue of a rather ugly wizard he felt he should know had he ever actually paid attention in Binns' class, and fell asleep.

/

Sirius' first thought upon waking was, 'I wonder how I could make shoelaces that knot together every time you sit?'

His second was, 'this bedroom is rather pleasant...if a little too light. James, turn out the sun!'

Then he sat up abruptly, looking around. Someone had taken him from that dank and dusty hallway, removed him to a large sunlit bedchamber done in creams and blues, like a summer sky or a joyfully tossing sea. The bed he lay pillowed in was soft and wide and recessed a little into the ashy wood four poster, so that Sirius felt cradled in a nest. The bedclothes were blue and simple cotton- in fact, despite the size and obvious expense of the room (there were protective charms woven into the damask wallpaper, and goblin-gold ceiling tiles didn't come cheap) there was no overt opulence in the place. Simple, open, airy, and bright. The way he'd do up his own place, really. Four slouchy mismatched armchairs before a large, light wood fireplace. Two sets of french doors on two walls leading to a balcony facing a lake and open meadow on one side with a thick wood not far behind, and the edge of a cliff above the sea on the other. Well, at least he could tell Dumbledore that You-Know-Who lived on the coast...in a rather lovely house, once you got past the public rooms. Even the dog bed on the floor was just the right mix of comfortably worn fabric- Gryffindor stripes, of all things- and luxuriously thick foam pad. _Hang on- dog bed?_

Sirius looked left, then right, decided that the bedchamber was indeed empty, then threw himself out of the bed and knelt beside the dog bed on the floor, just inside one of the open french doors. Sure enough, his nose hadn't deceived him- there were- _but how_-

Dog biscuits. Tucked into one corner of the bed, a brand new box of Padfoot's favourite brand. James sometimes bought them for him as a special treat. Lamb lung, peanut butter, cheese, and the tenderest filling of liver and minced calf... Sirius felt Padfoot salivating inside him. But how had the Dark Lord _known_?

'Ah, I see you do enjoy that particular flavour. I was rather sceptical myself upon reading the ingredients list, but apparently my spies are still good for something.'

Sirius cringed. He knew. How could he know? _No-one_ knew. Was this just more blackmail? If Sirius didn't join, Voldemort would send a letter to the prophet, get James and Peter arrested, get Remus expelled... He swallowed and stood up slowly, turning to face the Dark Lord leaning against the doorframe to the room. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' he said hollowly, already knowing it was a futile attempt. Indeed, Voldemort smiled in amusement.

'Don't you, Sirius? Or should I call you Padfoot?'

Sirius flushed angrily and clenched his hands into fists. He couldn't betray his friends by joining the Death Eaters...but he couldn't betray his friends by allowing their secret to be leaked. Maybe, despite what was said last night, death was still an option on the table... Sirius shivered. Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Oh, yeah. _He's a Legilimens_.

'I have no wish to harm you, Sirius,' Voldemort said gravely, crossing his arms. 'That would include harming you through harming your friends.'

If he weren't the man trying to destroy wizardkind, Sirius might've said he looked hurt.

'I merely wished to provide all comforts you might require to feel at home here, in whatever form you take.'

Sirius eyed him warily. 'Am I captive here, then?'

Voldemort tsked and swept forward to sit in one of the armchairs, waving a hand for Sirius to do the same. After a moment's hesitation, he did. They were quite comfy-looking, after all. 'I sprang rather a lot of new information and ideas upon you last night,' Voldemort said. Kindly! 'It was my own fault for letting my excitement get the better of me. In future, I shall coax and explain and gently instruct as I ought to have done before. However, in future,' and now he looked serious again, leaning forward in his chair with his fingers drumming together, 'I would ask you not to run about the manor alone. Parts of it are unknown even to me, and more than a little contains items or inhabitants of an unfriendly nature. Please inform me first if you wish to explore on your own, or call one of the house elves to accompany you. I would not have found you last night without their help.'

'That was kinda the idea,' Sirius muttered sullenly, and hoisted himself up in the chair to tuck his cold toes under his legs. He did not want to think about the fact that You-Know-Who had rescued him from the cold and carried him to bed.

That end of the wing is unused for a reason,' the Dark Lord said severely. But he couldn't have been too cross because he snapped his fingers, lighting a roaring fire before them, and waved his other hand at the bed, bringing a soft blue and green striped throw floating over to settle round Sirius' shoulders. 'You might have ended up as an early breakfast had I taken any longer.'

Sirius' curiosity piqued despite himself. 'An early breakfast for what?' he asked.

Voldemort frowned and leaned back, crossing his knees. 'I have never been in a position to ask,' he said delicately. 'The mutilated corpses that tend to pile up outside that particular hallway tend to speak for themselves. Figuratively, of course.'

Sirius couldn't help laughing at the moue of distaste crossing the older man's features.

'To the point,' Voldemort said, rather sourly. 'You are no captive, but a guest whenever and for as long as you wish to be. This fireplace is connected to the floo network, but only for you; you may go anywhere, and return through any fire, but anyone else trying to come through it will find themselves locked in a detention cell in the Ministry of Magic. I prefer to let those incompetents deal with time wasters,' he said airily, and Sirius had to suppress another chuckle. 'The name to get in is 'Padfoot's den,' though you may change it if you wish. If you desire to bring someone through, perhaps the wolf or the Potter boy- '

Sirius looked up in shock, clutching his blanket. Voldemort would actually let him bring his _friends_ to play at the Dark Lord's _own manor_? What the hell was going on here?

'-you may discuss it with me. I can temporarily and selectively open your floo, and block off certain parts of the manor during their stay. Of course, they would have to submit to a mild confundus charm before departing.'

Sirius bristled, and Voldemort nodded as though in understanding.

'As I said before, Sirius, I have no desire to harm your friends. However, we are still at war, and your wolf in particular may be able to scent out clues to our present location. I cannot so freely offer up my secrets, even for you.'

With a sigh, Sirius nodded. He could understand that. And it's not like a little Confunding would hurt them- hang on, was he actually _considering_ coming back? To _Voldemort's house_? Sirius was so shocked with himself that he didn't even notice Voldemort had moved until something touched his arm and he saw that the Dark Lord was knelt at his side.

'Many things have changed, Sirius,' he said softly. 'I am not as you thought I was, and this war is not all as you think. I stand by all I said last night, and I know that you will need time to accept it.' He smiled and lightly squeezed Sirius' arm, rising gracefully to his feet. 'Breakfast will be served shortly; I'll send a house elf to assist you to the kitchen. And Sirius, while you're here-' he stopped and turned at the doorway to favour Sirius with one last, startling smile- 'please call me Tom.'


	2. Chapter 2

'I'm telling you, you can't just fix an extender on a Wingardium Leviosa- the charm'll be too wobbly,' Sirius explained with great patience. 'After you take your wand away there'll be no guarantee the pies'll stay _upright_, only that they'll stay _hovering_. Any breath of breeze could tip them sideways.'

'We can Petrificus them,' James insisted.

Remus rolled his eyes without looking up from his book. 'If you do that, you won't have a chance to cancel the hex, and the pies'll land like concrete instead of with a splat. You'll knock someone out.'

'If we can extend the Wingardium, we can time-limit the Petrificus!' James argued stubbornly.

'And what if the pie's already upside-down when the Petrificus ends?'

Sirius lay back in the grass and let the two at it. A breeze swept over the lake, bringing the chill scent of deep water and marsh weeds. He could vaguely hear a gaggle of first years shrieking in nervous excitement as the giant squid tried to steal their lunch. Puffy grey clouds drifted overhead in a darker grey sky.

'It's not a very Halloween-y prank anyway, falling pies,' Peter piped up suddenly. 'Hadn't we better do something with exploding pumpkins or trick candy?'

'Bog off, Wormtail,' James snapped, clearly sore that Remus had shot down every one of his ideas with simple practicality.

'I dunno,' Sirius yawned, closing his eyes to the soft Autumn sky. 'Trick candy might be fun. Maybe something that turns you four-eyed or stripes your hair orange and black.'

'Or shrinks your prick!'

'Charming, Prongs.'

They sat in silence a while, letting the breeze ruffle their hair and the utter peace of the moment well up into warm contentment. Sirius loved Autumn, and he knew Mooney felt the same. James was all about the energy and rush of Spring and Summer, while Peter liked the bright and cozy warmth of Winter. Sirius and Remus felt the wanderlust and exotic stories in the September winds, the cleansing in the October rains, the bite in frosty November air that lets you wind your Gryffindor scarf round your best friend's neck along with your own and hug them tight, laughing, without feeling like a girl.

'Dick-shrinking toffees it is,' Sirius said finally, breaking the silence. 'We can combine a shrinking potion with the organ-specifying charm Pomphrey used when she took out Longbottom's appendix. Wormtail, think you can sneak into her office and find that?' He opened his eyes to a squint and saw Peter nodding eagerly. 'Great. Mooney'n I will brew the Shrinking Potion- we'll have to find a way to make it only last a day or two- James, you'll have to use the cloak to steal us the ingredients.'

'Right-ho!' James said with a snappy salute.

Remus sighed in fond exasperation, turning back to his book. 'Your mother will be so disappointed when you don't make prefect,' he muttered to James.

'Who says I won't?'

'The thousand detentions we'll all get when it's discovered we've shrunk all the penises in the school!'

For some reason this remark made Sirius burst out laughing, and the other three quickly followed and soon they were rolling on the grass, howling. As Sirius clutched his stomach, tears of mirth streaming down his face, he had an odd passing wondering whether Voldemort had ever had something to laugh over in pure happiness like this.

/

Three days later, Peter had crept on little rat feet into the hospital wing's small medical library and found the localising spell they needed. James had snatched the potion ingredients out from under Slughorn's nose, and Sirius and Remus had got the potion started. Remus had also researched diligently to find a way to make the Shrinking Solution's effects very temporary...but to no avail.

They were stuck.

'Who can we ask?' James queried through a mouthful of mash that evening in the Great Hall. 'There must be a way of doing it; someone must know.'

Bits of potato spattered the table and Remus took a pointed swig of his pumpkin juice. 'We can't go to any of the professors,' he pointed out reasonably. 'They'd know we were up to something.'

'What about your parents, Prongs?' Sirius asked, dragging his fork through his own potatoes. He tapped his wand on the plate and his gravy streaks morphed into the shape of a lion.

'That's a neat trick,' James said, startled, leaning over his shoulder. 'How'd you do it? And no go, my mum and dad are as suspicious as McGonagall these days.'

Remus sighed. 'Well, then, that's it, I guess. We're done.'

Sirius frowned. 'It's the same concept as making shapes in smoke clouds,' he said to James. And to Remus, 'Don't give up yet. I think I have someone.' Hardly believing what he was about to do, he pushed away his hardly-touched plate, slung his bag over his shoulder, and jogged out of the hall, ignoring the shouted questions behind him.

/

Sirius tumbled out of the fireplace at Voldemort's manor without any grace at all. He'd had to run down the tunnel into Hogsmeade, sneak into the Post Office, and throw himself into the floo port when no-one was looking- with the result that he came out the other side in a somersault. He sat on the floor where he landed for a minute, dazed.

'Hardly to your usual debonair standards,' a warm voice remarked.

Sirius leapt to his feet and whirled round to spot Voldemort himself leaning against the door frame and providing an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. 'How did you get here so quickly?' Sirius asked, relaxing and dusting off his clothes. 'I thought the manor would be warded against apparition.'

Voldemort shrugged elegantly and made his way into the room now lit red and gold by the setting sun. 'Not for me,' he said simply, and settled into an armchair, flicking his fingers to start warm flames in the grate. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

Sirius twisted his fingers and sat down opposite, close to the pleasant heat of the fire. 'I wondered if you might know of a spell,' he began, rather hesitantly. It's not every day he asked for pranking help from You-Know-Who! 'It's not Dark magic, or anything. I just need to find a way to make the effects of a Shrinking Solution last no more than about twenty-four hours. A localised Shrinking Solution.'

Voldemort raised an eyebrow and crossed his legs and fingers. 'A temporary, localised Shrinking Solution? Whatever might you be doing with that? And why can you not ask Master Slughorn?'

Sirius shrugged. 'The professors are always telling me to do something about my ego.'

The eyebrow stayed up.

'Er...I want to normalise a few overlarge Gryffindor hearts?'

Still no response.

'Fine, fine. My friends and I want to shrink everyone's dick at Halloween.'

Voldemort merely looked at him. Sirius threw up his hands.

'That was the truth that time!'

Finally, the expression changed. Voldemort frowned. 'You want to...'

'Shrink everyone's dicks. Yes. Well, obviously not everyone, some people don't have them. Though it might finally answer the yes-or-no on Bullstrode. We're putting the potion in a load of toffees but if the effects last too long it won't be funny anymore.'

'Quite,' Voldemort said, rather stiffly, and Sirius couldn't tell if he was trying to keep in a laugh or a reprimanding scowl. 'And you sought my help because...? Not that I complain; I am, on the contrary, very pleased that you might come to me for anything, Sirius. But I must confess I have little experience in the realm of practical pleasantries.'

Sirius shrugged, kicking his shoes off and wriggling his toes out towards the merrily crackling fire. The sun had set properly now and the room was suffused with a warm golden glow that seemed to emanate from the ceiling tiles, as though they'd soaked up the day's sunlight and softly let it back out through the dark Autumn evenings. 'You're good at potions, though,' he pointed out. 'And spellwork. Everyone knows that. So I figured you'd know this.'

They both watched the fire in silence for a long minute, Voldemort tapping his cheek with his long, pale fingers.

'You'd have to take care,' the man said, finally, slowly, 'that the time limiting effects did not apply to only one part of the combined potion- just the localising spell, which would leave the Shrinking Solution to take reign over the whole body, or just the potion, which would leave the spell and focus future magic on- on the...' Voldemort gestured.

'Prick,' Sirius said helpfully.

'Quite. You could try to bind a limiting spell to both aspects of the potion, but there is a basic difficulty there. I'm sure you've spotted it?'

He had. 'Binding a time limit won't visibly affect the potion at all, so you've no way of knowing whether or not it's worked until someone tries it,' he sighed.

'Well done,' came the warm response, and Sirius tried to ignore the pleasant fizzies in his stomach. 'Someone must test it. Not you, of course, but I've got a dungeon full of-'

'No,' Sirius said flatly, dropping his feet to the floor with a thud. Voldemort waved a hand unconcernedly.

'As you like. In that case, you must find another way, without binding the two completed parts. There's only one alternative route, of course.' Voldemort paused, as if waiting for Sirius to speak up, so he did.

'Bind the two incomplete parts?'

'Exactly.'

Sirius frowned. 'How do you do that?'

Voldemort snapped his fingers and at once a house elf appeared with two cups of cocoa. Sirius accepted the drink this time, and the elf vanished. The Dark Lord swirled his cup. 'Cocoa is generally made by melting chocolate, then adding milk. However, it is perfectly possible to make the same drink- looking the same, tasting the same- by merely softening the chocolate, whisking in the milk, and boiling them together.'

Well, there was obviously a hint in there somewhere. Sirius mulled it over, sipping the hot cocoa. 'We put in the foundation for the localiser part way through making the potion, rather than adding the complete localiser at the end,' he murmured. 'It'd be possible; none of the ingredients will react badly in a raw state.'

'I imagine not,' Voldemort said mildly, drawing contentedly from his own cup.

'And then time-limit the whole thing...at the end? Or would it be better to limit the effectiveness of each ingredient, to make sure- no- hang on, we could _separately_ complete each step of both potion and localiser that it's possible to do individually, then time-limit all of _those,_ and it'll all automatically be bound together when the potion takes form!'

Voldemort smiled. 'Very clever thinking, Sirius. That sounds like an excellent idea.'

Those warm fizzy fuzzies in his stomach bubbled up irrepressibly. Sirius couldn't help smiling back in excitement, and the expression seemed only to make Voldemort happier.

'I have a quite superbly well-stocked potions lab here in the manor. Do you require any ingredients for your plot?' he asked, rather decently Sirius thought.

'Nah, we've nicked- er, got- everything we need. Maybe next time.'

Voldemort's smile grew again, and Sirius realised what he had just said. 'You are always welcome. Now, have you had dinner?'

Sirius shrugged. 'Not really, I wasn't hungry.'

'Tsk. That won't do, you're a growing and active boy.' Before Sirius could protest Voldemort had called up yet another house elf, this one dressed in violet. 'Master Sirius and I will dine here this evening,' he said, and an instant later the low ashwood table between the armchairs was stacked and covered with food. Sausages still popping from the broiler, steaming mashed potatoes smothered in a thick onion sauce, darkly caramelised squash and swedes and carrots, buttery toasted bread, heaping bowls of berries and sliced apples and pears. Sirius really hadn't been hungry, but even _his _mouth watered at the sight and scent.

'Er...I really should be going,' he managed to spit out. 'It's nearly curfew...the lads'll be wondering where I've gone.'

'Nonsense,' Voldemort said firmly, taking up his napkin and fork. 'If you go back now you'll be caught for sure. You can stay the night here and floo back into the common room early in the morning, just like last time. Have you any way to contact your friends? Can you produce a Patronus?'

Sirius abruptly remembered the mirror. Perfect! He'd just call James in a little while when he could be sure he was in the dormitory, and tell everyone not to worry. Or, rather, worry a _little_, because he was actually _agreeing_ to a sleepover at the Dark Lord's house, and wasn't anything but relieved that he didn't have to run through that mucky tunnel again.


	3. Chapter 3

_26 October_

_Sirius,_

_When you have completed your festive toffees, I would greatly appreciate a small supply. Three will suffice, if you can spare them. I send a gift in return, of course. I assume that you and your friends will wish to avert suspicion. Thus, I have included a bag of Honeydukes' Tastiest Tummy-Tickling Toffees for you to consume as an alibi._

_I do not intend to press you, Sirius, but time flits ever onward. I cannot, with the lives of all my followers in my hands, converse with you on the most relevant subjects without being able to offer them evidence of your trustworthiness. Please consider carefully what you are willing to perform as a demonstration. Should you ultimately decide that you cannot give me your loyalty, I will accept your choice- with a mild Obliviate, regretfully, though I'm sure you understand the necessity._

_I am ever available at your need._

_Tom_

_P.S. I shall send this owl again each morning this week (with new sweets, that you might suggest to inquisitive friends a relative is sending you pre-Halloween gifts) so as to give you opportunity to reply. No school owl will be able to locate my house, I'm afraid._

_/_

_My Lord,_

_Thanks for the toffees. Sorry, no ideas yet. Trick toffees done midmorning after tomorrow. Just 3? Wouldn't have anything to do with 3 'possibly sighted' Death Eaters mentioned in Daily Profit, would it? Remind me not to disappoint you. Tomorrow please send sugar quills? Have got double History of Magic._

_S_

_/_

_27 October_

_Sirius,_

_I will not hurry you; you and your trust are much too important to me to lose you through inconsiderate impatience. Incidentally, I've no wish to treat you as another Death Eater. I do believe I asked you to call me Tom?_

_I have sent a number of sugar quills in various flavours (I must confess that one of the raspberry quills is missing; I've not had a sugar quill since my early days at Hogwarts, when the raspberry was by far my favourite, and found myself entranced). I presume the need for such indicates a certain tedium to the lessons; thus, I have also included a history of goblin rebellions that should prove helpful. The author is a goblin himself and the book infused with goblin magic. I think you may find it enjoyable._

_The Daily Prophet is a rag fit only for use as shredded bedding in a chicken coop._

_Tom_

_/_

_Voldemort,_

_I'm afraid your education has been severely lacking, and it is now fallen unto me to present you with some basic facts of life. Evil Dark Lords do NOT suck sugar quills while writing dastardly plots. Nor do they keep chickens._

_Sirius_

_p.s. Mooney is getting disappointed because you, my dear 'Uncle Al,' haven't yet sent chocolate. Could you? Toffees done tomorrow._

_/_

_28 October_

_Voldemort,_

_I said 'chocolate,' not 'Honeydukes' entire production of chocolate for the entire season'! Have enlisted a swarm of first years to carry it all up to the dorm. They'll probably run off with half of it but there's so much I won't notice. Mooney's in heaven, though. Expect a marriage proposal later in the week. Send a package like this again and he'll just elope with you._

_Toffees included. Effects should last about 12-18 hours. Don't try one yourself, Mooney says if we've done it wrong your bits might shrink so much they fall off._

_Sirius_

_/_

_Sirius,_

_I've always believed strongly in chocolate's powers of mental stimulation. Consider it a study aid. You may inform your friend that I am deeply flattered by his affections. Should he, when he is of age, still be attracted by the idea of a middle-aged man who works late nights with his friends running about in masks with an unlimited supply of chocolate, he may look me up._

_I'm sure your toffees will perform admirably, thank you._

_My house elves are near to staging a rebellion due to their perceived slight at my purchasing copious amounts of sweets rather than requesting their desserts. I do hope you won't mind if I send you gifts from the kitchen tomorrow rather than the sweetshop._

_Incidentally, what's the point of being a Dark Lord if I can't even eat sweets whenever I like? And I'm rather partial to chickens. Fresh eggs are delightful and sitting among hens can be quite soothing._

_Repeat that to anyone and I'll hex you._

_Tom_

_/_

_29 October_

_Mr Dark Lord,_

_Jam tarts: APPROVED._

_Toffee success?_

_Am WATCHING book you sent. Like what Remus says muggle films are like. Also writing this in Transfiguration so sorry for shortness. Also sorry if owl turns back into tea cosy, was only supposed to be temporary but seems to have had a glitch- bird keeps flashing back to paisley pattern. Sorry!_

_Sirius_

_p.s. Don't think Dark Lords are supposed to whine either  
_

_p.p.s. PLEASE don't hit on Mooney, he'd get all flustered and be so embarrassed he'd just go along with it and he's supposed to grow up and have little wolf cubs I can romp around with on full moons!  
_

_/_

_Sirius,_

_I'm glad you appreciate the tarts; I've always been rather partial to them._

_I also appreciate the warning about the owl. I have a letter to send to the Minister today and were his plumage- rather striking, the dark shades, I'm sure you'll agree- to revert to a pretty blue paisley as it's just done on my desk, I believe my message might lose a modicum of sincerity._

_Your toffees will be a triumph. You did very well; should you someday choose to join my ranks, I would be quite proud to call you my resident inventor._

_Tom_

_P.S. You do know that if you take the parent's responsibility for romping with the young cubs, you'll also be taking the parent's responsibility for bearing the brunt of their developing teeth? You'll be a pincushion by the third month. Shall I get you a crup puppy for Christmas instead?  
_

_/_

_30 October_

_Tom,_

_Thanks for the cinnamon buns! The fluttering icing bats was a neat touch, how does that work?_

_I've maybe got an idea? Would like to check in person though. May I come through tomorrow night or will you be out scaring the children?_

_Sirius_

_/_

_Sirius,_

_It brightened my day to see my given name at the heading of your letter. Thank you._

_I'll teach you the charm when you arrive. The ribbon wrapped round the parcel of buns is a portkey and will activate when you speak the words 'Padfoot's Den.' I look forward to seeing you at any time tomorrow._

_Tom_


	4. Chapter 4

Sirius lay in his bed, his stomach turning. Partly because of everything he'd consumed at the Halloween Feast- the Hogwarts elves had outdone themselves as always and for the sixth year in a row all four Marauders had gorged themselves nearly sick on pumpkin pasties, apple pies, treacle tarts, blocks of ice cream with every topping imaginable, bowls of every kind of biscuit and sweet, chocolate truffles and bars, brittles, barks, and a rather magnificent replica of the Hogwarts castle made entirely of confectionaries.

His stomach hurt, too, from laughing so hard he got a stitch in his side at the expression on all the male students' and professors' faces halfway through dinner. He and James had gone down to the kitchens that morning and very sweetly asked the elves to make sure each person got a toffee; their effort to apologise for all the pranks they'd played over the last two months, they claimed. The delighted elves had obligingly included a toffee on each place setting. He, James, Remus, and Peter carefully swapped out their own for the untainted Honeyduke's toffees Tom had sent earlier in the week, and sat back to watch as, one by one, every male face went white and a number of hands shot down under the table. Even Professor Dumbledore had looked mildly alarmed for a moment, until he glanced over to the Gryffindor table with a raised brow, where the four boys were laughing uproariously as Madame Pomfrey tried to ascertain what was the matter with a poor Slytherin seventh year, who was close to fainting and refused to take his hands away from his privates.

Even though the memory made him smile (_'I don't know what the matter is, young man, but that is hardly appropriate behaviour for the dinner table!')_, his stomach flip flopped all over again as he listened carefully to see whether or not the others were asleep yet. He'd quickly snuck his robe and shoes under his blankets while the others were brushing their teeth, and hid the Marauder's Map in the pocket of his pyjama trousers.

The Map...

He didn't know what else he could do, really. If he ever wanted to learn any of Voldemort's plans, he had to offer some show of loyalty- but he couldn't do anything that would actually hurt anyone, or put them in danger. If he offered Voldemort a copy of the map, well, he wouldn't have anything they didn't, and even if he used it to sneak into the castle, Sirius would know about it, and would be able to warn someone first. In fact...maybe, tomorrow, he'd go tell Dumbledore or McGonagall about the tunnel to Hogsmeade. Just in case.

...Nah. What would be the point, really? The tunnel to the shack would still be open; Remus needed that one. He'd be cutting off their favourite and most necessary route for no real reason at all. Besides, Dumbledore probably knew about it already, ancient old bat that he was.

With that thought in mind, and James' snores, Remus' sighs, and Peter's snuffles in his ears, Sirius slipped on his shoes, shrugged into his robe, and crept from the dormitory.


End file.
